Hellbound
by MissMilkMaid
Summary: Torn between old loyalties and rising moral dilemmas, James Logan is trapped on the road leading to damnation. But what part do Colonel Stryker, Victor and the rest of Team X play in this? It turns out Logan isn't the only man hellbound. (AU version of Wolverine Origins.)
1. Chapter 1: Louisiana Fireworks

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel and other entitled entities. I'm not making profit and only published this for personal entertainment.

**Hellbound**

**AN:** I hated and loved _Wolverine Origins_. There are a lot of things I really enjoyed, the characters, the credit scenes, some of the fights and dialogues and the actors, but the story writing ruined it as a whole. Not only was it a far cry from the comics, but it also had a lot of dumb plot-holes and stupid character motivations. So I'm taking the parts I liked and will try to make an alternate story. Hope you enjoy. And for those of you reading my other stories, don't worry. I haven't given up on my Wolverine in Gotham story, or my Son's of the Wilderness series.

* * *

Chapter One: **Louisiana Fireworks**

A glowing red baseball flew toward them, filling the air with a hot tense buzz of potential energy.

"Oh great! Not again!" shouted Wade, as Stryker gave a cry of alarm and tried to turn their Jeep aside.

"Abandon ship! It's every man for-"

_BOOM! _

Shredded metal and shattered glass flew everywhere. With an enormous crash, the Jeep flipped over and bounced once, before careening into a ditch. In a whirl of noise, confusion and pain, Logan was flung into something solid and blacked out.

When he woke up, Logan estimated he had at least four broken bones. A large glass shard pierced through his skull right behind his right ear, causing a fast flow of blood down his neck. Groaning he fumbled through blood and hair to get it out and looked around. He'd been thrown from the car about fifteen feet into some boulders by a swampy pond. Stinking water soaked his cloths and mixed with his blood. To his left, a frog peered at him and jumped off a tree root in the water with a plop.

Across the pond, Logan saw the ruined Jeep, its twisted axils and crumpled hood looked grotesque in the light of the cracked headlights. Fred was helping Colonel Skryker stumble up the bank to the road. Their leader was bloodied and limping, but didn't seem to have any serious injuries. On the dark asphalt above, Wade, John and David were all standing about in the humid night air, completely unharmed, guns and swords in hand. Lucky bastards. Hearing a gurgling growl, Logan saw Victor struggling under the remains of the Jeep, apparently just regaining consciousness. He'd be fine. Bradley on the other hand…

Grunting in pain, Logan pulled his healing body along the swampy bank to where the smaller mutant lay amidst the roots of a cypress tree. Blood was flowing from his forehead and one arm was obviously broken. Fearing the worst, Logan pressed his fingers to Bradley's neck and was relieved to feel a pulse.

"Chris? Can you hear me? Bolt? Bradley?" There was no response and Logan let out a frustrated growl of rage. Out of everyone on the team, why did the one guy who didn't drive him nuts have to get hurt? His own bones were still gradually knitting together, but he managed to get up and heft Chris in his arms.

"Bradley needs medical attention!" He shouted, struggling clumsily toward the road.

"Yeah and someone needs to come get this fucking car off my back!" screamed Victor, clawing vainly at the mud and broken steel around him.

Wade chuckled, looking down at him. "Guess exploding baseball isn't your sport."

"Wilson, as soon as I get out of here, I'll show you exactly what kind of "sport" I play."

"Enough talk!" snapped Stryker, still a little breathless from the crash. "North get on the phone with Base and tell them we need medics and transportation." The colonel pressed a bloody handkerchief against his neck and limbed, but was still just as determined and businesslike as ever, "The target can't get too far. Have them send the helicopters."

Logan got to the road and John took Bradley from his arms. "How bad is he?"

"Spect he's got a concussion, but 'least his head ain't bleeding too bad," Logan panted, dropping to his knees. "Kid's got a broken arm, maybe some broken ribs. I may not be a doctor, but I've seen my share 'o injuries. He'll live."

John nodded and glanced down at Logan, who had his hand pressed to his side where his own broken ribs were burning with the strain of healing. Sweat and blood trickled over his face and neck and his breathing was shallow.

"How 'bout you?" asked Wraith.

Growling, Logan shook his pounding head, flinging water and blood from his hair and stood up, "I'll live too."

"Damn it, Jimmy!" yelled Victor, "GET THIS FUCKING CAR OFF ME!"

"Ah'm comin'," Logan snarled, sliding back down the bank.

"I'll help you, Logan," Fred said, which was handy, since Logan was pretty sure he couldn't lift a car, even if his ribs had been whole and his skull uncracked.

"I swear when I find that red-eyed, card-flipping son of a bitch, I'm gonna make him eat one of his own bombs!" growled Victor.

"I actually think he's pretty cool!" Wade said, casually swinging his swords in graceful sweeps. "Not everyday you get to see a card trick that actually brings down the house, or a baseball pitch that can flip a car! By the way, Sir, your suit is wet. Wanna borrow my jacket?"

"Wade put your swords away and help Logan and Dukes get Creed up," Stryker said, sitting down and cutting one of his pants legs open to check a blooded shin, "Soon as he's on his feet again, I want you, Wraith, Logan and Creed to follow the target on foot. Make sure we don't lose him. The rest of us will catch up."

"On foot? What good's that go'na do. He's got a motorcycle! No thanks to Wolverine!" Wade pointed accusingly at Logan, who gritted his teeth and ignored them.

With a grunt, Fred managed to lift the Jeep. Logan grabbed his brother by the arms and dragged him out from under the car, before Wade had a chance to jump down the bank. Victor gave a roar of pain.

"Ah Hell!" cursed Logan when he saw his brother's back. "Colonel, he aint going to be on his feet for a while. His back's broken."

"Fuck you Jimmy," Victor panted, dragging himself toward road with his arms, "I can tell by the way you move that you got plenty of broken bones yerself. If you're go'n, I sure ain't-"

"Yeah, but I heal faster than you, Old Man." Logan interrupted and indeed he could already feel his ribs relaxing back into place, whole and hardy as ever.

"Fine, Victor, you're staying here with Bradley to wait for the medics," started Stryker, but Victor interrupted voice savage.

"I DON'T need any damned medics!"

Stryker's face darkened, "Watch you manner, soldier," he ordered.

"Ooho," Wade chided and wagged a finger at Victor, "Old n' Crippled's gonna get himself in trouble again."

Victor growled, his claws extending.

Marching past his brother, Logan grabbed Wade by the arm, turning him toward the road.

"Come on. That bike was a Kawasaki GPz900R Ninja from '84. Mutant or not I aint letting that punk get away with it. Ninja's damn fast, but luckily it don't got much of a gas tank. Kid's gotta be near empty by now. We might catch him at the next station, if we hurry."

"Oh boy!" scoffed Wade, "Cornering Firecracker in a fucking gas station! Sounds like a blast!"

"Logan, if you find him, report via the radios. Keep him pinned, but don't go in until we get there," instructed Stryker.

"Understood Sir," Logan replied and gave John an annoyed look, as he teleported right beside him in a puff of stinking sulfur.

"I still can't believe you let this guy steel your bike," Wade said once the crash was well behind them, "And after you stole it in the first place and everything! I mean what gives, Wolverine?"

"Wilson," Logan growled through gritted teeth, "Shut up."

"Ha! Like that's ever going to happen. We're walking on a dark country rode in the middle of nowhere, with creepy swamp trees and their strange bearded moss (What kinda name is "Bearded Moss" anyway?) hanging from the branches like green snot and here's you two creepy mutants on either side of me and Flaming Bomb Boy Mutant ahead. I got'a challenge the suspense/horror atmosphere somehow. Otherwise who knows what might jump out and eat us… well eat John. We all know the black dude dies first. No offense man, it's just a fact."

John shook his head, "Wilson, if you plan on yakking like this all night then dying first would be a god-damned relief!"

"No kidding," agreed Logan.

"Come on. Don't you guys go ganging up against me, otherwise I might just cut off your feet and leave you both behind when the monsters start chasing us." He drew his swords and swung one in each hand barely missing Logan's cheek by half an inch. "By the way, Logan, you got blood in your ear… and your hair and …"

"Yes, I know!" snarled Logan in a dangerous tone. The tips of his claws protruded slightly, as he clenched his fists. Quickening his pace, he pulled out ahead of the others.

For about five seconds Wade didn't say anything, as he eyed Logan's angry march then he shrugged and turned to John. "So I heard some crazy stories 'bout the locals 'round here…"

Ahead of them, Logan let out a growl of frustration and broke into a jog. "Don't try to keep up," he snapped back at them, "I'll wait at the next crossroad." Then he sprinted on ahead, leaving them behind.

"Was it something I said?" asked Wade.

"Deadpool, I think it's just you," John replied.

Logan had run nearly a mile, letting his deep breaths and pounding heart dissolve the last remaining pain of his healing injuries. Then he smelled the tell-tale sent of gasoline and saw lights up ahead. A familiar yellow and black motorcycle was parked beside the pumps of a gas station.

Grabbing up his radio, Logan reported in. "This is Wolverine, I've sighted the target's vehicle outside an Exxon about 1.5 miles north of our last encounter."

"Copy that Wolverine, this is Zero," came North's reply, "How close are you and the others from the station?"

"I'm about a 150 yards out…" Turning Logan glanced over his shoulder and sniffed, "Wraith and Deadpool are still a'ways back."

"A'waaaiys back?" sneered North, exaggerating Logan's rural accent, "You're telling me you idiots split up? Do you even know what a team recognizant mission is?"

"Oh you know Lo- I mean Wolvie," Wade's voice butted in on the frequency, "He never wants anything to do with anyone. He's a "Lone Wolf" Oh except that he lets his big brother knock him about and – oh in Africa he-"

"Shut up Deadpool!" came Stryker's barking command.

"Only for you, Sir. Only for you. Though I-"

"Wolverine," interrupted Stryker, "Can you see our target?"

"No Sir, but once I get closer, I'll know if he's there."

"You mean you'll smell him?" drawled North in his typical "_You're such an animal" _tone of voice_._

"If yeh hate mutants so much, why are yeh even on this team," growled Logan, as he stalked closer to the station.

"Some one needs to be the zoo keeper," scoffed Zero. There was some growling in the background and Logan could practically hear David's eye roll over the radio. "Stuff it, Sabertooth. You can't even stand up."

By now Logan was close enough to the station to pick up a few more scents. Their target, a mutant known as Remy LeBeau, was still close by. Besides that, there was only one other person he could catch scent of and he assumed it must be the attendant. There was also the strong smell of roasting hot dogs, which made Logan's stomach rumble. Why was he always starving after a rough healing?

There was movement inside the lighted station windows and Logan caught sight of LeBeau's long coat and brown hair.

Wade had started arguing with Fred about something over the radios and Logan didn't hesitate to interrupt. "This is Wolverine. I can confirm the target is inside the station. I think he's buying hot dogs."

"Oh good! I'm starving!" came Wade's voice.

"We're not here to eat, Soldier!" barked Stryker, "Wolverine, keep the target under observation. Wraith, get yourself and Deadpool over there. Keep him pinned. We'll have backup, helicopters and transport there in less than half an hour."

"Copy that," came John's voice and a moment later Logan heard a faint bamfing sound in the distance. Then, in a stench of sulfur, John and Wade appeared beside him in the dark. Logan didn't take his eyes off the station, just sniffed and muttered. "Why do yeh always have to stink things up when yeh do that?"

"Ain't my fault. That's just the way it is."

"The way it is sucks," broke in Wade, "Man, I hate it when you pull me with you. It feels so compressed and yet wobbly. It's not unlike escaping mother's womb. God what a memory!"

"Keep watch," Logan hissed to John and took off his boots, before moving silently toward the station.

"Where yeh going?" asked John in a hushed tone.

"Boss said keep 'em pinned. Figure someone aught'a do something 'bout sabotaging the bike, otherwise we'll have another damn chase."

"This seriously the size of your feet?" demanded Wade holding Logan's army boot at arms length, "Dude, this shoe is way too small to be a man's! This looks like it should fit my sister and she's twelve."

"Man, you aint got no sister," hissed John.

"Ah you're right," sighed Wade, tossing Logan's boot forlornly over his shoulder, "But if I did you know she'd be hotter than Marilyn standing over that fan."

"You're disturbed."

"Tell me about it!"

Logan shook his head in annoyance and moved more quickly along the shadows of the trees, his bare feet softer than drifting snowflake. All the stealth probably wasn't necessary, but, as of yet, LeBeau's powers weren't fully known and Logan had learned a long time ago to always take the extra precautions.

It was when he got to the lighted pumps that things got difficult. He watched from the shadows for a long minute as LeBeau filled a soda cup and picked out of pack of gum and a new deck of cards. Finally, he moved into the light when the Cajun turned his back to the windows to pay.

The bike LeBeau had stolen was a 1984 Kawasaki Ninja, one of the first motorcycles to come out of Japan. It had turned the biking world upside down when it hit the scene. It'd been a damned revolution: faster, smoother and sleeker than all the competition. This one had a custom yellow and black paint job and Logan had gotten hold of it in Casa Blanka on their way out of Africa. It'd belonged to the smugglers they'd taken down. Since most of the smugglers ended up dead, Logan figured it was time to give the beauty a new home back in the USA - only to have that red-eyed punk of a kid steal it. Careful not to scratch the paint, Logan uncovered the fuel line and cut it neatly with his pocketknife. It'd be an easily repair once he got it back to base, but he still felt like he was slitting the throat of a faithful dog.

"Don't worry baby. I'll have yeh home in no time," he whispered, actually patting the bike.

"Well, don't dat just touch a man's heart," came a Cajun slur of a voice.

Looking up over the top of the bike, Logan could see Remy LeBeau standing just outside the station door a Dr. Pepper in one hand, a handful of cards in the other. He hardly looked more than 17 years old. The acne and red eyes counteracted the suave of the long coat and stylish haircut.

"If ah'd known this was all about yer love for yeh "baby" there, than we could'a settled this days ago. Though, the rest'o yer friends didn't seem so concerned 'bout the little theft ah pulled off, as much as dragging me off to some undisclosed "sanctuary." Where are they by d' way?"

Wasting no time, Logan drew his gun and leveled it at the mutant. "They're closer than yeh think. Now drop the cards, Lebeau, and-"

"You really should have thought about this more, Monsieur. But if you insist…"

Remy tossed the cards and Logan looked down to see the trickle of gasoline running from the bike to the Cajun's feet.

"No. Wait!" Throwing himself aside, Logan rolled, barely dodging the explosion as his beautiful yellow and black Ninja went up in a ball of fire.

"Are yeh CRAZY!?" shouted Logan, "You mutherfu-rahahh!" his curse turned into an outright animal snarl, as he fired his gun at the boy. Stryker wanted LeBeau alive, but after the Jeep wreck and then seeing his bike blown to bits, Logan just wanted to rip LeBeau apart and be done with it.

Remy, however, was more than a little fast on his feet. He was literally doing cartwheels, as he dodged, his coat flying out behind him.

"Wolverine what the hell is going on!?" came Stryker's voice from the radio, but Logan ignored him. His clip was empty and he didn't bother to reload. Instead he charged, the hard bones of his claws breaking past his skin.

"Nahharrgg!"

Logan swung with his claws, using all his strength and speed, but he still missed the Cajun completely, only succeeding in getting his claws tangled in the heavy canvas of Remy's coat. Grabbing hold, Logan jerked the coat around pulling LeBeau off his feet. The boy's coat collar in hand, Logan lifted his gun shoving it into the boy's stomach. He grunted in pain, as the breath was knocked out of him. Before Logan could do anything else, Remy managed a smirk and put his hand over the mussel of the gun.

"Adieu, mon ami," he said before slipping smoothly out of the coat and kicking Logan back a good two feet, as he somersaulted in the other direction. There was a tense hum, as Logan's gun grew red-hot. It exploded like a firework in his hand, shards of steel flying through flesh. The force sent him bouncing over the pavement, until he hit his head on the cemented side of a gas pump.

Casually, Remy picked up his coat and turned to go, when, with a bamf, Wraith and Deadpool appeared before him. John lifted a gun. "Give it up, Boy. There's no escape."

"Yeah, hate to break it to yeh, but we aren't all as incompetent as Wolverine over there," chided Wade drawing his swords.

"You're surrounded and we got helicopters on the way," John informed him, "You got no choice."

Stepping back, Remy chuckled, "Mes amis, there is _always_ a choice." Taking more cards out of his coat pocket, Remy tossed them aside and lifted his hands, as if in surrender.

Where he was fighting through the fogs of concussion and pain, Logan saw the cards flutter toward a puddle of gas coming out of the broken pump where the remains of his bike were scattered. Then the cards began to glow bright red. Ignoring all else, Logan lunged up. "John get out of here!" he screamed and leapt for Remy, tackling him down in a tumble that took them crashing through the station door into the shelter of the building.

There was a bamf, as John and Wade vanished from the scene and Logan did his best to shield the kid with his own body. The whole station erupted in a giant ball of orange and red flames.

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**AN on Deadpool & Zero: **I really liked the Lagos sequence in the movie. Wade and North were pretty awesome with their guns and swords and super-flippy-jumps, but it doesn't really define their powers. I mean obviously they had some, but being really good at wielding their perspective weapons and doing a crazy flips isn't really an understandable mutation in itself. Also, Wade is human in the comics. Zero is supposed to be Christoph Nord/David North, but he's seemed pretty unrecognizable in the movie and far as I can tell didn't have North's powers. So I decided to have them both be human. They obviously have really good training and athletics, but nothing supernatural or mutant - no cutting bullets in half, or doing 20 foot flips over fences. Sorry.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think of the Wolverine Origins movie and if "rewriting" it is worth the trouble.


	2. Chapter 2: In the Hospital

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel and other entitled entities. I'm not making profit and only published this for personal entertainment.

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Chapter Two: **In the Hospital**

Hot pain, the burn of his healing working overtime, the roar of a helicopter and the sense of movement swam through Logan's consciousness, but he didn't truly wake up until a good time later.

His brother was beside him and they were in a hospital, or medical center of some kind.

That was immediately clear just from the smell. For several moments, Logan didn't open his eyes, just took in the smells and sounds, letting the information form a picture in his head. It was a relatively large room and, beside himself, Bradley and LeBeau were here. Lots of people had come and gone, but Victor was the only current visitor. His brother was sitting by Logan's bed, eating jerky and looking at porn. He had probably been here a few hours.

Letting out a soft moan, Logan turned his head slightly.

"Jimmy?" dropping his magazine, Victor leaned over the bed. Perfect.

With sudden action, Logan sat, grabbing Victor's collar in one hand and popping his claws in the other. They stopped less than half an inch from Victor's eyeballs, poised for a plunge.

"Gotch'a!" Logan smirked, a wild, playful look in his eyes.

For a second, Victor looked startled. Then he scowled and grudgingly shoved Logan back. "Damn it Jimmy!" he growled.

Logan snorted then broke into a cough, the taste of smoke and blood coming to his mouth, "Heh. Admit it," he wheezed, "I had you."

Victor glared at him then broke into a toothy grin, giving Logan a playful shove. "Only because you look so damned pathetic. You're in a fucking hospital Jimmy. When they found you, you were charred right down to the bones." Victor picked up his magazine, shaking the paper, as he looked for his spot. "You still look like hell. Your damn hair hasn't even grown back yet."

True enough Logan could feel the itch and burn of flesh rebuilding, mostly on his back and legs. He coughed again, as his lungs still recovered from being seared by heat. It hurt like hell. Also, he was starving, in a pained way only healing brought on. Nonetheless, he dismissed it all and glanced worriedly over at the curtains he knew separated them from LeBeau.

"What about the kid?" he asked, "Is he- cough-KOFfh- ?"

Victor frowned, "He don't look good, Jim. He wasn't burned bad as you, but that's hardly saying much. The doctors here are 'mazed he aint died yet." He looked over the top of his magazine down at Logan, "Colonel's real pissed."

Guilt settled in Logan's empty stomach. Sure the kid had blow up his bike and tried to kill them all, but he was just a boy and they had been hunting him.

"What about the attendant?"

"Hrm?" Victor's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"The gas attendant, at the station," Logan clarified, "Did he – Cough – make it?"

"Oh," Victor shrugged, "Doubt it. That whole place went up pretty fast. You and Cajun Spice were lucky we had backup on the way."

There was the distant sound of booted footsteps, limping toward the room and they recognized them as Stryker's. The brother's exchanged a "get ready for trouble" look. While they disagreed about a lot of they things that'd happened since Stryker had saved them from a cell in Saudi Arabia, Victor and Logan would always share a common dislike for authority. It'd always been the two of them vs. the world and century-old habits tend to die hard.

"Brace yourself, Runt," Victor said and then smirked slightly, "Like I said, he's pissed."

"Go fuck yourself, Victor," Logan hissed.

Victor chuckled appreciatively then looked up, as the doors burst open and Stryker stalked in, a couple doctors in attendance.

"You're awake," Stryker said, coming over to Logan's bed.

Just as Victor had warned, Logan could smell frustration and anger all over the Colonel, even if Stryker managed to appear as collected and businesslike as ever.

"Awake and at your service, Sir," Logan replied, deciding to play things safe for once.

Victor rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, which Logan now noticed was a wheel chair. Apparently Victor was still recovering from his broken back.

"Told yeh Jimmy would pull through. I know my brother, Colonel. He's a runty pain in the ass, but he knows how to take a hit."

"Yes. Thank you, Victor. You may go now," Stryker said testily.

Snorting in irritation, Victor pushed away from the bed.

"A wheel chair?" scoffed Logan.

"Shut up Jimmy. I'm only still using it cuz it's fun to ride down the ramps."

"Yeah. Sure."

Growling, Victor shoved a doctor out of the way and managed to kick the doors open with a bang as he left the ward.

"What the hell were you thinking, James?" demanded Stryker, soon as Victor was gone, "Your orders were to stay put, until back up arrived."

Logan scowled. "I didn't intend a confrontation, Sir," he said, "I only meant to-"

"I don't care for excuses, Soldier!" interrupted Stryker, "Because you disregarded orders, LeBeau is on the edge of death, a civilian was killed and we had to cover up a damn explosion."

Logan dropped his head. "I didn't intend for that to happen, Sir."

"Your intentions don't matter," snapped Stryker and paced, still limping on one leg. "The question now is how will you fix this?"

Logan frowned and gave Stryker a dubious look. "Fix it? There's nothing I can do that will bring back the dead, Sir."

"No, but you may be able to something damn close to it." Turning, Stryker looked down at Logan, his face serious. "You're unique, James," he said. "I'm realizing this more everyday. When I first took you and your brother in, I assumed you shared basically the same mutation. But in the past twelve hours you have recovered from multiple bone fractures, shrapnel and severe burns, while Victor is still healing from a broken spine.

"A broken spine is no-" Logan started, but Stryker interrupted again.

"Regardless, it's clear that while Victor may be stronger and faster, your healing factor is superior. Also, the doctors just informed me that you have 0- blood-type."

"Have what?" Logan asked frowning in confusion.

"You're a universal donor," said one of the doctors, coming over to Logan's bed. Looking at him, Logan was reminded of the self-portraits by Van Gogh. He had a thin pasty face that caused his red hair and bushy red beard to stand out starkly and his very large glasses made the doctor's pale eyes look bizarrely large. "It's an invaluable blood type," the doctor continued, "Both the Colonel and I are very curious as to what, if any, effect your mutation would have if you were to donate blood, or say an organ."

Logan frowned. He and Victor had experienced doctors and their many questions and curiosities before. Experimentation had always been a threat for them and they'd escaped from some bad situations in the past. It had left them with a deep dislike for doctors, scientists and other such ilk.

"You aint cutting me up, Bub," he growled, "So you can forget about turning me into a free-for-all organ bank right now."

"Thanks to you, Remy LeBeau has suffered devastating burns," interrupted Stryker, his stern voice snapping Logan out of the death glare he was directing at Doctor Red-beard. "Burns which he will never be rid of, even if he should be lucky enough to survive, which, according to Doctor Cornelius here, is unlikely." Stryker looked earnestly down at Logan, "He's lost a lot of blood, James. His lungs are damaged beyond repair and he's in a lot of pain. And there's nothing more the hospital can do for him."

Logan was silent for a long moment. He could smell Remy just on the other side of the curtain. He knew what Stryker was saying was true. The kid needed help and needed it soon, or he was going to die.

"You want me to donate blood?" Logan asked, his tone a grudging growl, "You think that could really help?"

"I have a theory that the antibodies and stem cells in your blood may increase the boy's owe immune system and even increase his rate of healing," said Doctor Cornelius, holding up a clip board, "That is, if your blood isn't rejected by his system, but with your blood type, I don't think it will be a problem."

Logan turned his glare back on him. He really didn't like doctors, especially when they acted like they knew everything. "Fine," he growled, "I'll agree to give the blood, but I'm not agreeing to any kind of experiment. I just want to save the boy, so don't you go getting any ideas, Doc."

Stryker glared, "James, it doesn't matter what you agree to. Legally, you are in my custody and I've already given Doctor Cornelius permission to do a blood transfusion."

"I don't give a dam 'bout legal custody, Stryker, but if we're going to do this then lets do it and have it done with."

"If you're ready Mr. Logan, I have everything set up already," said Cornelius, pushing back the curtain separating Logan from Remy, revealing the boy. He looked bad. Blistered red and black burns were wrapped in bandages around his body. His hair was gone and an oxygen mask was over his mouth and nose, with a pump to help him breath. A screen was monitoring his heartbeat and IV lines ran from his arm. Logan winced. He'd seen much worse through the years, but even after all the wars he'd been through, the sight of a kid damaged beyond repair stabbed deep.

"I'm ready," he said.

At first, Cornelius had some trouble getting Logan's blood. His healing factor kept rejecting the needle, before they could gather more than a trickle. Finally, in frustration, Stryker told Cornelius to get a bag open. Seizing Logan's arm, he flipped open his army knife and slashed Logan's wrist.

"Hey!" snarled Logan and started to jerk back.

"Hold still, James, I'm just being practical. Doctor, keep the bag steady."

"A little warning might have been nice, Bub," Logan growled, but held still, letting the blood gush, until the wound healed a moment later.

"That's remarkable!" exclaimed Cornelius, pushing his glasses up with a bloody hand, "Mr. Logan, if I could have a chance to talk with you about your mutation and maybe run some more-"

"No," Logan gave him a dark look. He snatched the knife from Stryker's hand, as the Colonel lifted it again. "Give me that. I'm not some freak for either of you to put under a microscope and poke at."

He cut his own wrist this time, deeper than before and he held the knife there, his teeth clenched in pain. "Tell me when you have enough."

"I'm hoping to replace as much of Lebeau's blood with yours as we can," Cornelius said, "That should give your healing factor, if it will work for him at all, the best chance. But I certainly don't expect you to spill six quarts all at once! That would be suicide."

"Didn't you hear his brother, Doctor?" Stryker said, slapping Logan on the back, "This kid can take a hit."

Logan glared up at Stryker, wondering if the Colonel was actually being serious. It was often hard to tell with the man. Logan could heal, yeah, but he wasn't an endless fountain of blood, especially after all the healing he'd done recently.

As the bag filled, Logan removed the knife and let his cut heal. "I'll give you two quarts now and the rest later," he said.

"He'll give you three now and the rest in an hour," Stryker stated, his hand still on Logan's shoulder.

Logan glared up at him, but then nodded. "That will work."

It was exhausting. He hadn't even gotten out of bed, but Logan felt like he'd run up a mountain and back. Everything ached as his heart strained to circulate oxygen and nutrients with too little blood. His burns were all healed, but Logan didn't complain when Cornelius recommended he stay in the hospital ward another night. Besides wanting to rest, Logan was growing more anxious about Remy Lebeau.

It had taken several hours with doctors and nurses keeping a constant watch, for all the boy's blood to be replaced with Logan's. They all said the process had gone well, but night had fallen and Logan still couldn't see any difference in Remy's condition. To be honest he wasn't sure what he had expected, but it'd been more than a continued beep-beep of the monitor, the pump of the breath stabilizer, and the regular appearance and disappearance of nurses and doctors with their clip boards.

Stryker must have told Victor and the others not to disturb the ward, because Logan didn't see his brother again all day and had to ask one of the nurses to bring him a book, just to keep off hideous boredom.

It was late and Logan was about a fourth of the way through _Ender's Game,_ when he was surprised to be interrupted by Bradley. Bolt was quiet – shy to a fault really. He hadn't said anything all day, even when the nurses had brought them their meals.

"What do you think will happen to the boy, assuming he lives?" The question came out of nowhere and Logan lowered his book, glancing over at Bradley's bed. The man had an arm in a cast and was as pale as ever, but his eyes were bright and alert in the light of the table lamp.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why do you think Stryker had us capture him?" Bradley looked at him, "Why does he even care if the boy lives?"

"Why wouldn't he? The kid may be a thief, but that's no reason to let 'im die."

"He's also a mutant."

"So?"

"Stryker doesn't like mutants, Logan."

"What do you mean? He's built a team almost entirely of mutants, Bolt. He's one of the first military leaders I've known who actually recognizes our value."

"I hear things, Logan, phone calls, radio transmission and other such things, even when I'm not meant to, or trying. Believe me, Stryker doesn't like mutants."

Logan frowned, not sure what to think of that.

"Why do you think he formed this team?" Bradley continued, "He said we were serving the country, but how? We haven't done anything to help the war effort in Kuwait, or hunt down terrorist threats. I thought we might be going to help the Apartheid when we went to Africa, but all we did was find a meteor and bring it back. And now we're chasing a common street thief, just because he's a mutant."

"A damned dangerous one," Logan said, though he had nagging feeling that Bradley was on to something. Ever since Stryker had opened the door to their cell and started playing the "you're special" harp, Logan had smelled lies. There just wasn't much he could do about it when the only other option was to wait for the army to find a way to kill him.

Glaring down at the pages of _Ender's Game, _Logan stuck in a bookmark and tossed it aside. He no longer had the stomach for reading. "Look, if they wanted LeBeau dead, it'd be pretty damned easy for them to get their way," he said, "If he survives, I reckon they're probably going to lock him up is all. Some place where they don't need to worry about 'im blowing everything to hell."

Bradley looked up at the stained ceiling and the light flickered a little. "I overheard Stryker talking with some government executive earlier. We're moving base to an island somewhere up the Atlantic Coast. I think it might also be a kind of … prison." He lifted a hand and all the lights in the room dimmed.

Logan cast the lights and then the equipment over by Remy's bed a nervous look. He didn't like Bolt messing around when there was vital equipment close by. "Listen Bradley, my brother and I didn't exactly have much choice in joining Stryker's little party. You know from the fiasco in Africa that I'd like nothing better than to wash my hands of it all. So if you find out anything that is seriously fucked up, tell me. One way or another, Victor and I will do what we can-"

"Victor?" Bolt interrupted, "You're going to tell your brother what I've said?"

Logan hesitated, the anxious mistrust in Bradley's tone confusing him. "Well yeah. I know he's rough and violent, but he's not all that bad really. I should know."

Bradley was rubbing his forehead. "Just forget it Logan," he said, "The past few days have been hard. I'm just stressed is all. We should both just get some sleep." With that the lights went out completely and there was just the steady beep-beep of Remy's monitor and the dim gleam of moonlight coming through the thin curtains.

Logan frowned, but Bolt had turned over, his back to Logan. "Uhm 'night then," Logan said, but there was no response.

It must have been the early hours of the morning when something woke Logan up. He wasn't sure what, but he woke with the age-old instinct that something was wrong. Immediate alertness, and complete stillness overcame him, as he listened and assessed. There was nothing. Nothing but steady breathing, distant sounds of night crickets and traffic. It was only after a moment that Logan realized it hadn't been a sound that woke him, but the absence of sound. Remy's heart monitor had come to a halt.

Alarmed, Logan turned over and sat up, "Kid?" he started, but, as he focused on the LeBeau's bed, he was quickly relieved to catch all the gentle sounds and smells of a life, as well as a good dose of tense fear.

Remy's red eyes gleamed in the dark, as he also sat up and pulled himself free of the Iv lines. The monitor attachments had already been cast aside. There was the soft clink of steel handcuffs, as Remy moved. His hair was still no more than a brown shadow over his scalp, but Logan couldn't see any other signs of burns or injuries.

"Kid, you alright?"

Remy pulled off bandages, tugged at the cuffs locking him to the bed and looked around.

"Most decidedly not," he drawled, "Remy was s'posed to be in Nashville by now, not locked up with da likes'o you. Where da'hell am I?"

Keeping his voice lowered, Logan started to get up. "Hospital ward, Bub. Don't yah remember? Yeh blew a whole fuck'n gas station." The floor was cold on his bare feet, as Logan stepped forward all his senses bent anxiously on LeBeau. Had it worked? Was the kid really healed?

"Ah yes," Remy said and fumbled to grab up the various tubes and needles stuck to him, jerking them loose. "Now ahs 'member you."

There was a sudden hum and Remy tossed a handful of loose equipment into Logan's face where it exploded with hot painful flashes of red fire. "Yer try'n te take Remy down!"

Snarling, Logan stumbled back, his claws instinctively breaking through his flesh, as he lifted his hands to shield his burned face. There was another humming crack and by the time Logan could see again the handcuffs locking Remy to the bed had been blown to pieces and the Cajun was already halfway through a spinning roundhouse kick that ended with his heel between Logan's eyes. The force of it knocked Logan to the floor between the beds.

"Adieu mon ami!" Remy quipped, before jumping off the bed and sprinting for the doors, dressed in nothing more than a hospital gown.

"Damn it Cajun!" Logan growled, getting up.

The lights turned on, as Bradley jerked awake. "What's going on?" he asked.

"LeBeau," Logan growled, grabbing a robe off a hook, and pulling it on as he ran for the doors "He's trying to escape."

"He got better then?" Bolt said with slight surprise. "I suppose I'll alert the…" he drifted off. Logan was already gone.

Neither Logan nor Remy knew the layout of the building. It wasn't Stryker's usual base, but it was simple enough for Logan to follow Remy's scent. The young Cajun had hardly made it to the end of the second hall, before he caught up.

"Give it up Kid! You're in no condition to fight." Logan yelled, "You were mostly dead only seven hours ago."

Jerking open the nearest door, Remy was faced by broom closest. "I beg to differ," he snapped.

Logan charged and Remy grabbed a mop and swung it like a staff. It smacked Logan on the side of the head, but he rolled with the blow and came back up to his feet, facing Remy from a few feet away.

"We're not-" Logan started, but Remy glared and leapt forward, swinging the mop for all he was worth.

Logan dodged, blocked and then managed to grab the mop on the third attack and yank it from the boy. He snapped it in two like a twig and then tossed the broken pieces aside.

"We're not trying to hurt yeh, Bub," he growled, advancing on the boy, "We saved yer life!"

"Ah don't recall asking yeh to," Remy replied, "Remy was do'n just fine on mah own 'fore you showed up."

There was the sound of booted feet and the glare of flashlight beams, as several armed guards came in from both sides of the hall. Logan could also smell Fred, Victor and Wraith.

"Freeze!"

"Surrender mutant!"

Most of the guards had guns and a few were clutching nightsticks.

"Well, well," drawled Victor's voice, "Looks like our boy's gotten all better. Got'a say though, I liked the trench coat look better on you, Boy.

Remy backed into the broom closet, his hands out of sight behind him and his red eyes gleaming dangerously as he faced the dozen men surrounding him. He picked Victor out of the crowd as the large mutant pushed forward dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. "We all gott'a try out new outfits every now and again," Remy replied, his accent sounding just as singsong and relaxed as ever, but Logan could smell the malice and hear the fast beating of the kid's heart.

"Look out!" he yelled, just as Remy flung his hands forward, throwing handfuls glowing nails at the crowd. They exploded like a dozen firecrackers and the guards shouted and ducked. A few of them lifted their guns to fire.

"No!" jumping forward, Logan tackled the boy, slamming him against the shelf of the closet and shielding him from the guards.

"Get off!" Remy shouted

_Rat-a-crack-crack!_

A few bullets hit Logan in the side and he grunted as he felt ribs break and one of his hips crack.

"Stop!" snarled Victor, snatching the gun from the one of the guards and hitting him with it hard enough to knock out teeth. "Runt you got this?"

Still trying to get past the pain of being shot, Logan didn't move fast enough to dodge the punches Remy threw at him. The Cajun was stronger than he looked and he hit Logan in the stomach then kicked him in the crotch.

"Out of mah way!" He managed to bowl past Logan and grabbed a wrench, which began to hum and glow.

Victor snarled and his claws extended, but Logan attacked before his brother could.

The wooden handle of a hammer smacked hard into the back of Remy's head, knocking the kid unconscious. Logan caught him in his arms, as he collapsed and kicked the glowing wrench into the back of the closet, where it blew a shelf of soaps to bits. Logan didn't flinch. Holding Remy, he carried the boy into the hall. Victor rushed to his side and the guards stood, coming forward with their guns. They all smelled rank with fear and anger.

"I got this," Logan growled, bristling as he sensed the hate, "You can all stay back."

Now that he could see Remy in the light, it was clear he wasn't as completely healed, as it'd first seemed. Though he was clearly well on the way to recovering, his skin was still red and hot to the touch and his breathing hitched slightly as his lungs overcame pain in each intake.

"Stay back. He's just a kid."

There was the sound of more people approaching as Stryker came around up the hall, flanked by Wade and North.

"He's a mutant, James," Stryker said and the tone in his voice reminded Logan sharply of what Bradley had said the night before. "And he's proven himself to be both lethal and unpredictable."

Logan turned to face them and Stryker stopped a few feet away.

"Dude! Wasn't that guy like mostly dead yesterday!?" Wade exclaimed, "I mean I heard they were going to try and fix him, but wow! I mean I've gotten used to you freaks turning from gory horror posters to men's fitness covers overnight, but-"

"Yes, it seems Dr. Cornelius's theory was well founded," Stryker said, then motioned to Zero, "Nord, will you please take the boy into custody. Lieutenant Wong has prepared the appropriate safety precautions for transportation."

Logan frowned and glared at North, still holding LeBeau tightly in his arms. "Where are you going to send him? What's going to happen?"

Stryker frowned. "It's not your concern, James. Well done subduing the boy, but we have all we need to take care of him from now on."

Logan still didn't move and gave North a warning look when he tried to step closer.

Stryker's eye twitched and Logan could smell frustration on him, but rather than snap more orders, the Colonel sighed. "The US Government has commissioned a facility, which will serve to contain dangerous mutants. I cannot tell you the location, but you will find out soon enough, as it will also be one of our new bases of operation. We will be going there directly. Now hand over the boy, James. No one will hurt him."

Logan hesitated a moment, but then eased Remy into Zero's arms. "Yes, Sir," he said.

* * *

**AN: **Please leave a review. Getting feedback really keeps me excited about a story. This is my first AU fanfiction and I'm curious about what people think of the changes I'm making to the movie version.


	3. Chapter 3: Prison Games

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel and other entitled entities. I'm not making profit and only published this for personal entertainment.

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Chapter Three: **Prison Games**

"It's nothing really," scoffed Wade for the fifth time, as Cornelius motioned that he could get off the table, "Just a little pain. Well, more than a little… a lot really… and a fever and a few sores. But what's pain and fever to men like us!" He looked at Cornelius's big glasses and red beard, "… a man like me that is." He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I only came in today because I ran out of comics. Just a check up. No big deal. Right, Doc?"

"Hrm," Cornelius frowned down at his clipboard. "There's no way to tell," he said, "It could jut be an infection, but ah…" he fiddled with his glasses, "We'll know for sure when I get the test results back."

"Right, right, of course," Wade said, "You know I was never good at tests in school. But you'll give better marks right, Doc? Sure you will." He slapped Cornelius's shoulder, but then leaned toward him, "But just in case, I'd rather no one heard about any of this, alright? Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

"I'm afraid I'm bound to report any medical abnormities to your commanding officer, Mr. Wilson."

"Stryker, right, yeah. Well, he hardly counts. I mean, well, he's the man!" he slapped Cornelius on the shoulder again. "But no one else, right?"

"Of course not," Cornelius confirmed, pushing his glasses up his oily nose. "I'll send for you once the tests have finish."

"Then Ay'll be bahk!" Wade said in an Austrian accent and gave a lazy salute before swaggering out the door.

They'd moved to their new base, Three Mile Island, off the coast of Pennsylvania. It'd been the site of a supposed nuclear disaster over a decade ago, but Stryker had assured them it was all part of the base's cover. Even so, the huge gray smoke stacks seemed like sentinels of industrial doom. It was dismal. Everything green had been covered with cement and it seemed far too large and empty. There were whole floors they didn't use and so many rooms and labs and boilers that Wade couldn't keep track. The handful of guards and staff they kept didn't even come close to taking up half of the facility's capacity.

"Overall, Base, you are thoroughly not cool and … and very lonely," Wade said out loud and lifted an eyebrow as his voice echoed slightly on the cold hall walls, "Oh… oh! An echo, huh? You think that counts as an answer?"

The office door behind him opened again and Cornelius poked his head out and gave him a hard look, one red brow arched.

"What's up, Doc?" Wade said and smiled broadly, "Hey why don'tcha come with me down to the cells. The boys are down there playing games with the prisoners. It'll be fun."

"I actually have a lot of work to do," Cornelius said and rapidly strode down the hall in the opposite direction, "Besides," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "I've heard about these "_games"_ and I doubt the Colonel will approve."

"Heh! Well, he's away on vacation and never had a sense of fun," scoffed Wade, spinning round on his heel and continuing on his way, "And if there's anything this place is in desperate need of, it's a little old fashioned fun! _Oh that's me in the corner! … Spot. Light! Losing my Religion! Oh, now I've said to much!" _he sang, spinning his dog tags in his hand.

Wade could hear them, before he was even half way down the stairs. Mostly Victor shouting, though Logan kept interrupting and the Cajun's accent drifted up as well.

"I'm taking the clothes!" raged Victor.

"But-"

"Shut the fuck up, Jimmy! This Cajun punk has been a smart aleck all night! Both of you can go rot!"

"Mon Ami, Please do try and understand. Remy's just a poor, simple street thief. Ah would never… Ah wouldn't even know how-"

"To cheat?! Give me a fuck'n break; you been playing that gambit since you got here!"

Wade kicked open the door, which had been left ajar. Everyone was gathered in the guard's station room at the front. Remy, Logan, Victor and two of the night guards had set up a table in the middle and were playing strip poker. Victor was down to just his blue jeans and everyone was in some stage of undress, except for young Remy Lebeau. The kid had Victor's coat draped over his shoulder like a king's robe, Logan's leather jacket beneath it, and two hats covering his mostly bald scalp. A pile of shoes, socks and shirts were at his side and he even had one of Logan's cheap cigars between his teeth.

"He's been cheating this whole time," snarled Victor, "If you think I'm taking off my pants to this punk, Jimmy, you're a damned possum! I'll be take'n my clothes back and taking them now!"

"I'm not saying he _isn't _cheating," Logan said, trying to sound reasonable, "But I'll be damned if I've figured out how. Didn't ya always say, the true game is 'bout being the best cheat, Vic? Yeh always said that. Remy's cheating fair an square and 'till one of us learns how, yeh gott'a follow the rules."

"Like _Hell_ I do!"

"Creed, stop being such a poor loser," said Wraith, who had wisely sat out the game and was reading a magazine across the room. "You signed up for this game, you-"

"Shut up!" yelled Victor, rounding on Wraith and pointing a long-clawed finger at him.

Wade laughed, leaning against the doorway. "Someone in over their head?" he chided, "Poor wittle Sabertooth don't want'a 'mit he's lost to a kid!"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Wilson!" Remy greeted, taking off a cowboy hat and ducking his head in the friendly manner of a host welcoming friends into his home. "You're just in time!"

"Of course I am! In time for what?"

"Um, Wade could ya move a second…" came a grunting voice behind him and Wade turned to see Fred at the top of the steps, holding the large, mahogany-topped bar from the team's wreck room.

"What the hell!?" Wade hastily got out of the way, holding the prison door open. Fred carried the heavy furniture down the steps. "What you doing with the booze, Blob?"

"Nuh! Lebeau won it in the last game," Fred explained, bottles ratting with every step.

"Indeed it is so," Remy said, getting up and crossing the room, Victor's coat dragging behind him. "Put 'er dar, mon ami," he directed, pointing to an empty wall. "An don't worry. Remy is generous with his winnings! Ah'll even forgive Sabertooth his lose this last hand. Keep your pants, homme."

Victor growled, but no one was paying him any attention. They were all streaming to the bar, where Remy was already pouring drinks with the practiced suave of an experienced barkeeper.

Wade happily joined the throng. His visit to the doctor hadn't made his pain vanish and whiskey was sounding awfully good. "Kid, you keep this up and you'll be the most poplar team member. Right behind me that is. Hey Stan!" Wade turned to an elderly guard, who was sitting by the table with a portable stereo on it, "Turn up the music!"

Metallica's _Justice For All_ album invaded the room and the men eagerly downed their drinks.

Over the past weeks, the prison ward had gradually become a common hang out. It'd began as simply keeping the posted guards company, while smoking and playing cards, but once Remy got in the games, the challenge had drawn in more and more of the faculty. So far, no one had been able to figure out how the kid was cheating, but the gatherings had continued to become larger and more causal. Moving in the bar from the wreck room was a welcomed improvement.

"When you going to win the pool table, Cajun?" asked a base technician, "Then we could really party."

There were several laughs. Everyone was in a good humor tonight.

"I say we give 'em the pool table and a few hookers as well," said a medic, "He could be a proper little pimp and we could name the prison "Remy's Remedy."

"Heh," Wade grinned, "I think he needs a better name than Remy, if we're making a pimp out'a him."

"He needs a code name," said Fred, putting down his glass and wiping his lips with a meaty hand, "Just like the rest'o us mutants."

"Now wouldn't that be nice," Remy chuckled, pushing his cowboy hat higher onto the Red Socks cap it was stacked upon.

"Red Eye," suggested one of handful of other prisoners, "Or Demon."

"Now, now, Remy here may be a mutant, but he's also a good, Christian boy. I was even an altar boy for the-"

"Yer full-o shit is what you are," interrupted Logan, throwing back his drink and taking out a cigar, "Yeh can stop with the innocent street urchin gambit, Kid. Yeh fight, drink and play cards better than most the men here. Yer 'bout as innocent as a rattlesnake, or I'm a monkey's uncle!"

"Hairy as you are, I wouldn't be surprised if you were just that," quipped Wade and the room burst into appreciative laughter.

Logan snorted and struck a match, "Least I don't smell funny as you, Wade," he growled.

"I don't smell fun-"

"Sure yeh do, Punk," snapped Victor, "You've smelled strange for weeks now. You take'n some new drugs and not sharing?"

"Uh-no," laughed Wade, "You're just a couple of freaks!" He hastily downed a glass of beer.

"Hey, I know," said one of the guards, "Why don't we call the kid Gambit!"

"But that doesn't have anything to do with his powers," Fred objected.

"Far as I can tell, his best power is beating us as cards," replied the guard, "And like Logan says, he's been playing a gambit, trying to get us to always underestimate him."

"Ah's like it," Remy said, smiling as he lifted his own glass, "Gambit ah shall be."

"I'll toast that!" celebrated Wade and they all lifted their glasses.

"Hey Wade, where's David and Chris?" Logan asked, once his glass was empty again.

"How should I know?" Wade replied, still working on his own drink.

"I thought they were with you." Logan was frowning.

"Gah, yeh know Zero, Runt," Victor growled, "Davy's probably off writing love letters to Stryker or something. He wouldn't be caught down here fraternizing with freaks and prisoners. Give me my coat!" He snatched his coat off Remy's shoulders, as the boy leaned on the bar across from him. His look dared Remy to protest, but the boy only smiled back and doffed his stacked hats.

"Bolt's not been feeling well," Wraith put in, " 'Sides, he don't care for cards."

Logan shrugged, "His loss."

Victor snorted derisively. "Yeah right. Gambit would have his skinny ass in no time, if he ever had the guts to show his face."

"Um…who's Gambit?"

Everyone turned to see Chris Bradley standing in the prison doorway, his pale face stark against the black sweater he had on.

"Dat'd be me, mon ami," Remy said, "But don't you worry. Your ass is safe."

Half the room snickered and Bradley frowned. The stereo sputtered, sparked and died, but the mutant didn't seem to notice as he turned to where John was still sitting with his magazine. "John, can I speak with you. It's important."

"You broke the stereo!" Wade cried, "What the hell, man?"

"Ah, it was too loud anyway," Logan said, still in a good humor, "Bolt, you going to have a drink?"

"No thank you, Logan," Chris replied, "I was just looking for Wraith… uh, the um, pipe broke in our dorm and… anyway." He grabbed the front of Wraith's shirt and pulled him out and up the stairs.

Victor laughed as the door shut behind them. "Yeh ask me, Bolt's queer," he said, pouring himself another beer.

Logan snorted and poured another drink as well. "Who cares?"

"You think?" Wade asked.

"If you ask me, all you mutants are freaky queer!" exclaimed one of the guards, who had obviously drunk too much already.

"Ha ha," snarled Victor, not amused. Picking up his glass, he threw the contents into the guard's face, "Fuck you."

"Why you dirty-!" started the man, but Logan grabbed him and slammed him against the prison wall, before he could finish his sentence.

"Better stop while ya have a head, Bub," he warned and then smirked, easily keeping the larger man pinned with one arm, despite the guard's struggles to escape. Using his free hand, Logan puffed on his cigar for a few moments, before finally letting the man fall to the ground, red-faced and breathless.

"You dirty… bastard… I'll-"

Logan kicked him in the face and the man fell flat, unconscious.

"Oh harsh!" Wade said, grinning from his bar stool.

"Was that truly necessary?" Remy asked, tossing the guard's cowboy hat back down to rest over his head.

Victor snorted, smiling. "You kidding? The Runt let 'em off easy. I would'a ripped his goddamned tongue out."

"Ew," Wade slurred, and wagged his own tongue, "That sounds… nhgg!" he leaned over the bar, as a wave of pain and nausea hit him.

"You alright?" Remy asked.

"Yeah!" laughed Wade, blinking back a dizzy rush of heat and swallowing back the foul taste of bile. "I think I just drank a little…more than I should'a. Heh… I've been on a diet, see. It's strictly chilidogs, animal crackers and Wriggle's chewing gum. The alcohol must'a been too much of a shock."

"A diet?" asked Fred, "Is that why you've been losing so much weight lately?"

"Yeah, yeah. That's why," Wade said, glancing nervously at the penetrating twin frowns coming from Victor and Logan. "Yeh know, I think I better, uh, hit the sack." He stumbled up out of his chair, "Try not to, uh, wake me when you come back to the dorm, Fred. I cherish my beauty sleep. See yeh 'round, Kid." He gave Remy a lazy salute goodbye and left the prison.

Wade felt like road kill being repeatedly pecked in the guts by a cruel and unusual buzzard, but managed to still hum on his way back to the barracks. A huge empty facility and the team still had to share dorm rooms. The world made no sense.

The room he and Fred shared was a wreck, full of dirty clothes, half eaten food and scattered magazines and comic books. Wade fumbled in the bathroom, looking for some painkillers, but only found a rusted can of shaving cream and a box of Band-Aids.

"Fuckety-fuck-fuck," he sang then and leaned on the sink. His face was hot with fever and his skin looked dark, almost purplish in hue, as he stared in the mirror. "You look like shit," he told his reflection.

"_Oh, yeah? Well you're one to talk, wise guy!_" he replied jabbing the finger at the mirror, "_You're in deep shit. You should have seen the doc months ago and now you're going to fail the test!"_

"God it'll be just like high school algebra! Big fat F!" Picking up a yellow marker that'd been left by the faucet, Wade drew an F on the glass of the mirror, and then a box around his reflection.

_"F for fucked!_" his reflection told him.

Dropping his head, Wade wiped sweat off his brow.

_"Ah… it's not that bad,_" he told himself, as if regretting the previous harsh words. "_You don't know the results yet and whatever the case, Stryker's got the best medical minds in the country at his disposal."_

"Yeah…" Wade sighed, "Yeah. You're right." He looked up and smiled at his reflection.

_"That's it! We're way too handsome to let this get the better of us."_

"Right back at ya, Charming," he bumped fists with his reflection, and then drew a smiley face with the yellow marker. "But I'm still out of pain killers."

_"So, go borrow some from Wraith and Bolt. Duh!_"

"Right."

Dropping the marker back onto the counter, Wade splashed some water on his face and stumbled back through the mess of the room to the hallway. Bolt and Wraith had the dorm across the hall and Wade pushed in without knocking.

"HelloOO?!" he called, "You two better not be having-"

He stopped when he saw them. They were reading over some documents laid out on Bradley's bed. On his entrance, Bolt shoved them under the pillow and sat on it.

"Jesus, Deadpool, haven't you ever heard of knocking?" snapped Wraith.

"Knock and see not, or else face the brazen truth like a boss," Wade chanted, "Though this wasn't what I was expecting. Whatch'a got there, Chris?"

Bolt crossed his arms and glared at him.

"None of you business, Wade," John answered for him.

"Really?"

"Really," stated John. "Now what do you want?"

Wade thought about pushing, but he really needed the painkillers.

"John, ol' buddy!" he said with a smile, "I was hoping you might have some Tylenol or Aspirin. I drank too much down in the cells and I KNOW I'll have a killer headache in the morning." He mimed shooting himself in the head. "Trying to get prepared here, Buddy."

"If I give you the Tylenol, will you go away?"

"Um…yes?"

John teleported with a puff and vanished. Wade could hear him searching in the bathroom cupboard on the other side of a door. Idly, he turned his eyes back to Bradley. "So what you hiding Bradley Boy?"

Bolt didn't answer.

"It's important, you said. Why you letting John in, but not the rest'o us?"

Bolt stared.

"Oh well. Whatever man. I can always just go ask the Colonel-"

"Don't!" Bolt pleaded.

Wade smirked. "I never would have expected _you_ to be the troublemaker, Chris."

There was a bamf and John suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his hair, pulling Wade's neck back. "You're going to forget about this, Wilson," he hissed in his ear then pushed a bottle of Tylenol into his hands.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll teleport your ass to the top of Everest and leave ya there to freeze."

"Ooh chilling!"

"Just get out of here, Wade," snapped Bradley.

"I'm'a go'n," Wade whined, "Thanks for the pills, Bro. If I think of anything else I need, I'll let you know."

He sauntered back to his dorm, feeling two glares burning holes in his back as he left.

* * *

**AN:** Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. It was fun to write from Deadpool's pov, but also difficult. I hope I captured his voice well enough. Please leave a review and let me know what you think of Deadpool and the story overall. And feel free to ask any questions. Reviews are very encouraging. On another note the second Wolverine trailer came out. Any thoughts on that? Are Y'all looking forward to the new Wolverine movie or not?

~MMM


	4. Chapter 4: Secret Lives

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel and other entitled entities. I'm not making profit and only published this for personal entertainment.

Chapter Four: **Secret Lives**

"Do you have to leave again so soon?" asked his wife, gently massaging his shoulders and then straightening his collar for him.

He could see her standing behind him in the mirror. Tall for a woman, Marjorie was on level with him and her golden blond hair was still messy from bed. He finished tying his tie and she leaned her chin on his shoulder, blue eyes smiling at their reflection.

"Surly the country can look after itself for another week or so?"

He turned, slipping an arm around her waist and they were face to face. Years had put lines around her eyes and she wasn't as slim as the day he'd first carried her across over the threshold, but to him she'd never been more beautiful. These past two weeks had flown by too fast.

"Don't go," she whispered and brushed his cheek with her lips.

He wanted nothing more than to tell her he would never leave, but the words that passed Stryker's lips were, "I'm sorry, but I must."

Marjorie dropped her gaze and then smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt, her hand stroking his chest. "Come back," she said softly, "Don't let it be another eight more months before you come home again. Jason needs his father. He's not a little boy anymore."

"I will try," he replied, "but my work… You know I can't talk about it, but we're moving toward something very important. It will change the way…"

She put her figures gently over his lips, shushing him. "You're son is important, Will," she told him. "He's twelve years old. Soon he'll be thirteen. If you're not careful you shall turn around and realize our little boy is gone."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I'll come home for his birthday," he promised and gave her a light kiss.

She let out a breath and wrapped her arms around his neck, "It was good to have you here, Will. I suppose I should be grateful to God for that at least. Come, I'll make you one last breakfast before you go to your secrets and your operations. Uncle Sam doesn't have you back just yet."

They walked down the stairs hand in hand and she cooked sausages and eggs, while he read the papers and sipped fresh squeezed orange juice.

"Anything interesting?" she asked him, as she served eggs on to the plates.

Stryker made a face, "South Africa's cracked to the rabble and has repealed its Registration Act and on top of that our own country is digging up the graves of great leaders. Apparently the conspiracy theorists exhumed Zachery Taylor to look for signs of poisoning! Course nothing was found. Marjorie, this is why my job is so important. Chaos, demons, fear: everyday they're trying to tear down the fundamentals of society. The rabble and freaks cry for change and equality and stir up trouble, so that the people no longer trust their own government. Can't they see that God has place government in authority? To question it is to question the Almighty. We live in a Godless age, my dear."

Marjorie put his plate before him, "I know," she said, "And I'm proud of whatever it is that you do, Will. If only I could be there to support you more."

He caught her hand and kissed the wedding ring upon it. "You already bare more than is fair to ask." His eyes were draw to the food, "This looks delicious."

"Jason!" Marjorie called, "Breakfast is ready! Come down. You need to say goodbye to you father!"

"I'm looking for my homework! Have you seen- Oh wait, found it!" there was the trample of tennis shoes on the stairs and Jason leaped down into the room. He was small for a twelve year old, a fragile child. His large eyes, were bizarre, one blue and one green. Though he'd never say so, Stryker hated his son's eyes. They were unnatural. Freaky really. There was a part in the back of Stryker's mind, where Jason's eyes made him think of work, of mutants. It was unsettling.

"Oh you made sausage," Jason said with whining disappointment when he saw the breakfast table, "Mom, I told you. I'm a vegetarian now. I don't eat sausage."

"What nonsense is this?" Stryker asked frowning.

"I've decided I'm not going to eat animals. It's cruel."

"Cruel? Don't be ridiculous. The Bible says God gave humans dominion over the beasts. Animals were made to be eaten. Feeling sorry for a creature serving in its rightful place is foolishness. Now you mother made this wonderful breakfast, don't complain."

"But animals are people too!"

"_But animals are people too_," repeated Stryker scornfully, "Never heard anything so ridiculous! You hear this on TV or something. Animals aren't people that the whole definition of animal! Only people are people. Good old fashioned, God-made human beings!"

"Well…" sulked Jason, dropping into his seat, "Maybe animals aren't like human people, but they have feelings. I don't want to eat them."

Stryker scowled, but Marjorie leaned down and spoke to Jason before he could.

"Don't argue with your father, dear. Just eat you eggs, okay. We'll worry about the sausage later."

"Fine," Jason sighed, "I didn't mean to argue, Dad," he added.

"We should pray," Stryker said, as Marjorie finally sat down as well.

They all took hands and Stryker led the prayer.

"Our Lord God, protect your faithful children. Give us the strength to be your sentinels in a wicked and corrupt world, a world full of demons, lies and pretenders. Do not allow us to be led astray, or pulled into corruption, but give us Your shield and sword that we may fight for the purification of this world and the building of Your Kingdom. We know the devil prowls, like a lion in the night, ready to snatch us out of Your hands, but by Your strength the animal will be slain, in the glory of Your name. Bless this food to our bodies and, as always, us to Your service. Amen."

Once breakfast was done, Stryker kissed his wife and son good by and got on a flight up to Pennsylvania. It wasn't very long. Only an hour, but that hour placed so many secrets, passions and policies between him and his family, there may as well be worlds between them.

He'd taken three weeks off. It was the longest leave he'd had in years. It'd mainly been thanks to the new base not being as operational as they'd hoped. While waiting for the arrival of the necessary faculty, equipment, information and contacts he'd left to oversee plans for bases in Canada and New Mexico. After that there'd been nothing more to do, but wait. Rather than endure the company of mutants and underlings, he gone home. It'd felt like a different world, a different life. It'd reminded him why he did what he did. Home-cooked meals, white fences, little churches, old-fashioned religion and a true all American family.

"I've been washed in the radiance of all that is pure," he murmured "And it makes returning to the muck all the more intolerable!"

He'd never seen a more disgusting, dismal place than Three Mile Island, when it finally came into sight through the rain and the waves. "I _hate_ everything in this place. God is sending me to Hell, sending me to fight the demons and the monsters. Well. So be it."

* * *

"Dirty mutants!"

"Damn bastards!"

Thud!

Bang!

Crash!

Someone was thrown into some chairs and the table fell over scattering cards and glasses. The fight was chaotic, with over a dozen people involved, mostly drunk. A bottle broke over Fred Duke's head and Wade laughed, which proved a mistake, because it gave Fred time to get in a punch that sent him flying over the top of the bar.

"You alright, homme?" Gambit asked, giving Wade a hand up. Remy was waiting the fight out behind his bar, drinking whiskey and observing the whole thing with mild interest and amusement.

"Ah haha… yeah!" Wade half laughed, half gasped, as he staggered up. They both ducked a flying table leg someone had tried to throw at Victor and Gambit poured Wade a glass. "Here Mon Ami, catch yer breath. Who's side are you on anyway?"

"Well…" Wade said, downing the whiskey, "I thought I was on Logan and Victor's side, till they cracked me over the jaw and send me flying with the rest of the men. Now I figure I like being against the mutants." He grinned, "Evens the odds a little and makes it more fun." Climbing onto the bar, Wade did and acrobatic flip back into the chaos, his boots landing on the back of Victor's neck and sending the mutant chin first to the floor.

The bar-fight was a good old fashion classic and after weeks of inactivity, Logan and Victor were enjoying every moment of it. It was the two of them against the world again, though technically Fred was on their side as well. The brothers ignored him, letting him knock together the heads of anyone stupid enough to attack him and focusing their attention on the other side of the room. They were a perfect team, fighting back-to-back moving as one about the room with coordinated attacks and parries. Luckily for their opponents, the brother's claws weren't out, but they sent men flying with superhuman kicks and punches, breaking bones and furniture alike and laughing the whole time.

It wasn't until Wade jumped in, moving with unpredictable action and uncanny speed that either of them went down.

"Damn you!" Victor shouted through bloody teeth.

Logan tried to swing in and attack Wade from behind, but the man dropped, balancing on his hands and swinging out with both legs, like a gymnast, knocking Logan's feet out from under him.

With a snarling roar, Victor grabbed one of the guards by the leg and swung the man bodily at Wade, who somersaulted nimbly aside. "You really need to work on telegraphing you moves Sabie," he chided, "The whole bestial scream's a bit of an indicator."

Silently, Logan rolled up and attacked Wade from the side, getting in a fast, precise punch to the small of Wade's back, which made Deadpool's whole side go numb. "It also works as a good distraction," Logan growled.

Their attention on Deadpool, neither brother was prepared when three more of the guards ran in.

Victor turned and sent one of them stumbling back with a backhanded blow and Logan managed to catch another man by the arm, twisting it and sending him stumbling down. The third man, however, came at Logan from behind.

With a flash of steel in the dim light, a knife buried itself deep into Logan's back. Logan's legs collapsed, as his spine was severed and a second later the man had grabbed his head by the hair and pressed the bloody knife to his throat. By the smell, Logan knew it was the guard he'd humiliated the week before, but this time he wasn't drunk.

"Who's laughing now Muttie!" the man hissed and his knife sliced deep. Blood sprayed everywhere and Victor's eyes went wild at the smell of it. Claws extending, Victor let out an enraged roar and lunched at the guard.

"Wait!" yelled Wade and jumped, tackling the guard first and rolling with him out of the path of Victor's murderous attack.

"Logan?" Fred asked in concern, stomping over to check on Logan, as the rest of the guards joined Wade, trying to get Victor under control.

Remy somersaulted over the bar and knelt next to Logan as well. "Is.. is he dead?"

Logan looked dead. The guard had dropped him face down in a pool of blood and his back was drenched from the stab wound.

"Nah," Fed said, picking Logan up a supporting his head, as it lulled lifelessly on his half severed neck. "Well, maybe. Some times I think they do die, but just, like … come back. There we are." Fred held Logan's head steady, as his neck steadily began knitting back together.

"Holy mother above…" Remy muttered in slight awe, "Dis what happened when we got blown up at dat gas station?"

"Fuck off Wade," came Victor's enraged yell. "I'll kill that bastard!"

Wade was struggling to keep Victor pinned down, but even with good leverage on his arms, the soldier's strength wasn't enough to keep the mutant down and two other men were having to help, as another kept back the guard with the knife.

"Filthy mutants all deserve to die! They're god damned freaks!"

"Blob, go get some help; Wraith or captain Jones."

"But Logan's still…"

A choking gasp and a bloody splutter broke from Logan and his claw instinctively shot out, barely missing Fred's face.

"Ah'll watch him. Go, homme," Remy said, taking Logan in his arms, as Fred got up.

"Jimmy!" Shouted Victor, throwing off one of the men. His claws slashed out and gave Wade a glancing blow, as the solder rolled out of the way.

"Fucking freaks!" the guard broke loose as well, brandishing his knife.

In a rage Victor jumped forward and grabbed the man, throwing him across the room and harshly against the bars of a cell.

"Victor!" Logan gasped, as his brother leapt like a tiger after his pray. Logan struggled up out of Remy's arms, going after Creed. Wade drew a sword and bounded over a fallen table, ready to put both bothers down hard if he had to.

Logan got to Victor first and grabbed his arm, as the mutant drew it back to strike the guard's throat.

"Victor don't!"

"He tried to kill yeh Jimmy!"

"Which is why he's mine!" snarled Logan, "Back off!" shoving Victor harshly away Logan's claws came out. Savagely, he rounded on the guard, stabbing his claws into the man's back and grabbing his arm. Victor intercepted Wade and there was a scream and a crack, as Logan broke the man's arm, before throwing him to the floor and snarling in the man's face. A final punch left the guard broken and unconscious.

"What is the meaning of all this!" came a stern voice. Stryker stood in the doorway, Fred behind him along with Captain Jones, Zero and a handful of other guards.

Drenched in blood and panting, Logan looked up from where he stood over the fallen guard. Victor had Wade by the neck, trying to get his sword out of his hand and Remy LeBeau stood free and nonchalant in the middle of the wrecked prison ward turned bar.

* * *

"Jesus!" John swore, as the medics pushed several gurneys down the hall toward the medical ward. Most the men on them looked merely battered, bruised and sprained, maybe one or two broken bones and there were lots of bloody noses, but one guard was hurt bad, with oxygen steadying his breathing.

"What happened?" asked Bradley, as both mutants pressed back into the stairwell they'd just come from to let the gunneries go by.

"Fight," replied one of the battered patients, rolling past. Grinning over his shoulder he showed missing teeth and a bloody mouth where he must have bitten his tongue half off. "It was brilliant! Logan and Creed are in so much trouble!" The man laughed or rather crackled as his gurney turned around the corner.

Wraith and Bolt looked at each other with "uh oh" expressions and Bradley put a figure on his temple in that half conscious habit he had when employing his powers. "Stryker's back. He's order the prison ward restored and …" he closed his eyes, mentally flipping through the views of the hundreds of surveillance camera in the building "Ah… he's got Victor and Logan cornered in one of the basement offices near the prison. Looks like he's chewing them out alright."

The hall was clear now, all the injured safely in the medical wing and John grinned, as they stepped out of the stairwell. "Let's go check it out," he said, already reaching for Bradley's elbow.

"I don't think that's a - "

BAMF!

Bradley choked as he got a mouthful of hot sulfuric air and stumbled slightly at they landed on the underground floor… "Koff-uhg- … good idea." He glared draggers, but John only smiled unapologetically.

"Some day," Bradley said in a very low, dangerous voice, "I'm going to fry your brain."

"You can do that?"

"Brains run on eclectic signals. Of course I can. Now hush. They're just down here."

With professional stealth, the smaller man led the way down a hall toward an office door. It was shut, but a frosted glass window was set in the upper half and they could just see the forms of Stryker, Victor and Logan. The eavesdroppers pressed against the wall, where they wouldn't be seen and listened as Stryker's voice came through.

"- Animals! Both of you! It's no wander the army had you shot. I should have left you both to rot in Arabia. Neither of you have any sense of discipline or military decorum."

Victor was growling and it bubbled up into a protest. "The bastard cut Jimmy's throat! Don't care what uniform he was warring! Man does that to my brother and I fillet him like a fucking fish!" Through and glass Bolt and Wraith could see Victor's enormous, clawed fist clenching like he was closing it over someone's neck.

"Silence Creed," shouted Skryker.

"Sir, I don't think we've-"

"You too Logan. Both of you, before I loose my temper and send you back to the army. I'm sure they'll find some way or another to fulfill your executions."

There was a moment or two of broody, grudging silence and when Stryker spoke again his temper had subsided some, though his tone was no less dangerous. "Your behavior not only this evening but the whole time I've been away has been a disgrace. Allowing prisoners, _MUTANT_ prisoners out of their cells, turning the holding ward to a bar-"

"That weren't us," protested Victor, "The whole team-"

"Trust me Victor, the whole team shall be taught better!" snapped Stryker.

"Sir about, Gambit, LeBeau that is, and the other mutant prisoners," began Logan, "It don't seem right to be-"

"James this not the time to question me."

"But there hasn't even be trials Sir! They're rights!"

"Mr. Logan, its not your place to determine the proper procedures for dealing with mutants," Stryker's voice was on the edge of raw glacial rage.

"Fuck that, Sir! I can't-" Logan stared forward, but Victor grabbed his shoulder jerking him back a furiously warning growl in his tone. "Jimmy!" it sounded more like a wolf snapping at one of his pack mates who'd tried something stupid than like actual language, but it did cause Logan to pause, his own teeth baring as he looked at his brother. Victor shoved him with a rough forcefulness that seemed out of place inside. The door shuttered, the glass almost shattering as Logan crashed into it.

"We 'preciate what yer doing, Sir," Victor said to Stryker. There was a sticky sap to his tone, which stopped just short of sarcastic, managing to be very fake, but still polite. "The runt 'preciates it too. He' just still getting used to the modern age is all."

"You both will learn what it means to live in the _modern age_," Stryker said his voice chilly, "Eventually." He waved at a couple of guards, who'd been standing in the back of the office, where Wraith and Bolt couldn't see them. "You will both be confined for a week for attacking the guards, disrupting peace and failing to adhere to protocol concerning the prisoners. It's much less than you deserve, but I can't spare you any longer than that. I will expect complete obedience and proper respect once you're back at work. We have a lot to accomplish now that I'm returned."

Wraith and Bolt could see the guards, locking the brothers in handcuffs, and they decided to leave, before anyone opened the door. With a BAMF they were back in the upper halls again.

John snorted, "Lot to accomplish hgh?

"Obviously he plans on going after all the mutants we've been getting those reports on."

John put his hands in his jeans pockets. Between the two of them they'd managed to discover and read the steady stream of top-secret reports that various espionage agencies had been sending to Stryker's waiting desk. Every single report had been on mutants, some were clearly national threats; others hadn't so much as gotten a parking ticket.

"What are we going to do? I won't hunt down our own kind, not without proper reason or justice."

Bolt was quite a moment, his eyes steely and set in a frown.

"We going to try and run? Get out'a here?" John asked, looking at him.

"Logan tried that back in Africa," Bolt said, sighing.

"Yeah well I reckon he might have gotten 'way with it, if his brother hadn't been so upset and all."

"No," Bradley said, "Stryker wouldn't have just let him go. Not for real anyway. Besides, running chicken won't do shit. Our names will just get moved from the hunter list to the hunted."

John frowned. "Well then?"

"Just keep low and quite like we have so far," Bold said, "Some of the mutants in those files need to be taken out. As for the others… I'll find ways to warn them, or something. Assuming Striker does have us to go after them."

"They'll suspect a leek."

"If we're careful, they'll never find the source."

"Hrm," John was dubious, but he didn't argue. "Maybe we should … you know, get help."

Bolt shook his head. "I'll write up reports, but until we know someone in higher authority we can trust to actually stand up for mutant rights, we'd just be digging our own graves."

"Well what about getting some of the others here to help? Logan's got a-"

Bolt shook his head again. "I thought about it. Almost told him too, but he's wrapped around his brother's clawed finger and I don't trust Creed any farther than I could throw him."

They got to a door and Bolt stopped just in front of it. Running a hand through his hair, he cause tiny sparks of blue electricity to zap between his figures and off the tips of his messy hair.

"You're crazy, man" John said.

Bolt grinned a small ball of gathered electricity hummed in his palm a moment, before striking off to smite a fly that's been buzzing around the florescent light above. "Just get us in there already. "I'll need time to sabotage this properly and the clock's ticking." He tapped his watch.

There was a BAMF and both men disappeared in a puff of sulfur.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry it's been so lang between updates. Had a little trouble fitting this chapter together. The scenes still seem a little disjointed and mismatched to me, but hopefully they were all interesting. Trying to give characters room to develop, especially Stryker. And though it wasn't really in the plan, Bolt has captured my fascination, so I've been enjoying writing him in scenes. I'd really love some reviews and feed back on the characters. Please Review!

~MMM


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